


Telemachus

by misura



Category: Black Books
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Doctor Who References, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I like being miserable! I love my misery! It's ... it's company! It keeps me warm at night - no, wait, that's the wine. And your hair. I hate your hair. We've got a wormhole eruption."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"I like being miserable and I hate your hair," said Bernard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telemachus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aestivali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aestivali/gifts).



> prompt: _writer's choice, A good bookshop is just a genteel black hole that knows how to read_

"Manny," asked Bernard, "is it Christmas?"

"It's pine," Manny said. "Air freshener. Smelled a bit musty in here, what? Like dust and - well."

"Books?"

Manny coughed and said, "Yes. Those. But mostly dust."

"You can read, can't you? Look!" Bernard pointed at the blackboard. "Look!"

" 'No ... ' Sorry, your hand writing's really difficult to read. 'No ... walkmans'? Ha, that's funny. I mean, who's got one of _those_ anymore, nowadays, am I right?"

"Neither generally nor in this particular case," Bernard said.

"Well," said Manny. "There is ... wine! In that bottle right over there. See? Right about that one, aren't I? Got you there, don't I? Yes - " he turned to straighten up a slightly crooked shelf " - I wasn't born yesterday, you know."

"I know," Bernard said, swallowing. "You were here the day before that, too. Crying and whining and screaming and God, I don't want to remember. And you're wrong. Bottle's empty. So ha! I win, you lose, you're totally my bitch forever."

"Scott Pilgrim? Really?"

Bernard waved the empty bottle at him. "It's - what's it called again? Oh yes. Canadian. Like Irish, but more polite and ... and French. And there's only one 'no'. And it doesn't say 'walkmans'. And - and what was the question again? I forgot."

"Scott Pilgrim? Really?"

"That's not a question," Bernard said. "It doesn't even have any verbs in it. Before that."

"Um." Manny closed his eyes. "Got you there, don't I?"

"No."

"Who's got one of those, anymore, nowadays?"

"No."

"Would you please stop sucking on my toes?"

"What?" Bernard said. "When did anyone ask that? To whom? Never mind, I don't want to know. It's boring. You're boring. You're always boring. You - ah! Ah! I remember. Is it Christmas today?"

"You associate the words 'boring' and 'Christmas'?" Manny asked.

"I'm asking the questions around there, thank you. Just ... answer it. Go on."

Manny blinked once. "It's ... June? You know, middle of Summer? Lots of sunshine? Ice cream? Women in dresses?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Get on with it, will you?" Bernard made a shooing gesture. "It's a simple yes-or-no question. Why do you always insist on making everything so complicated?"

"No, it's not Christmas," Manny said. "There. Happy?"

"See? See? This is what I mean. You're using six words - six! Just to say 'no'. And I'm not happy. Of course I'm not happy. I'm miserable. Miserable! And you know what?"

"What?"

"I like being miserable! I love my misery! It's ... it's company! It keeps me warm at night - no, wait, that's the wine. And your hair. I hate your hair. We've got a wormhole eruption."

"What?"

"I like being miserable and I hate your hair," said Bernard.

"That's not what you said," said Manny. "I mean, that's _some_ of what you said, but not all."

"Why don't you say what you mean straightaway? It'd save time. It'd mean people'd need to spend less time listening to you." Bernard opened a drawer on his desk and started rummaging around for a corkscrew. "I gave you the Cliff's Notes version of what I said."

"I heard the word 'wormhole'," Manny said. "And 'eruption'."

"Oh, good. So you did hear me the first time, and you were just pretending you hadn't to lure me into a false sense of superiority. It won't work. It can't work. My sense of superiority is completely justified. And it's real. Not false. It's real. And justified."

"Yes, master."

"Well, then," said Bernard.

Manny opened his mouth. "I ... " Closed it again. "I don't understand."

"Now there's something new."

"You asked ... Christmas. And then ... wormhole eruption. And I'm ... confused."

"Never watch the telly during the holidays, do you?" asked Bernard.

"I - sometimes?"

"Don't lie," Bernard snapped. "You're bad at it. Terrible! You're a terrible liar! Awful! Rubbish!"

"Well, that's not actually a bad thing, is it? I'm just naturally honest."

"Bah," said Bernard. "Anyway, Christmas - and if you watched the telly, you'd know this - Christmas is when the aliens come. And they all want to butcher us, or enslave us, or make us dress up in funny costumes, but the point is ... the point is ... what was the point I was going to make again?"

"Christmas."

Bernard snapped his fingers. "Right. Exactly. It only happens during Christmas."

"Why?" asked Manny.

"Why?"

"Yeah," said Manny. "Why? Why only during Christmas?"

"Maybe the aliens are Buddhist extremists and Christmas is an offense to their religious beliefs," Bernard said. "Maybe they're fir-based life forms. Maybe they just don't like all the singing and jolliness and the brightly colored lights. How would I know? I'm not an alien."

"You're not?"

"Can we focus? Please? Think! Wormhole eruption! What do we do when there's a wormhole eruption?"

"We ... " Manny started. Bernard motioned for him to get on with it. " ... call ... someone?"

"Who?"

"Yeah," said Manny. "I mean, if you've got his number. Do you? 'cos that would be kind of cool, you know. Very ... Torchwood."

"There's sex in Torchwood," Bernard said. "There's _gay_ sex in Torchwood."

"Not on screen. They just ... make out and stuff. On screen."

"There will be no sex in this bookshop," Bernard said. "No gay sex, either."

"Ha," said Manny. "That's not what you said last night."

"Anyway, Doctor Who is not real. He's just ... a guy. On the telly. An actor. David Tennant or Matt Smith or that other one. The black guy."

"Who?"

"No. I just told you. God, do you ever even listen to me?"

"Well, I - " Manny said, when the door opened and a gust of wind blew in the sound of church bells and choirs, singing and a flyer of some kind, which hit Bernard squarely in the face.

" 'No, I don't. Leave me alone, you're a wanker,' " Bernard said. 

"Wow."

" 'P.S. You still owe me seven Ave Marias from back when you were twelve and very, very naughty.' "

"Heh."

" 'P.P.S. Manny is a bloody wanker, too.' "

"It doesn't say that," said Manny. "It never says that. I don't believe it. Give me that thing."

"Wormhole," Bernard said, holding the flyer above his head with one hand and keeping Manny at a distance with the other one. "End of the world. Utter dissolution in antimatter. Priorities."

"Hey, I'm just a guy who works in a bookshop," Manny said. "That sort of problem's a bit above my paygrade, isn't it?"

"Heroes aren't paid. They're made."

"That's ... are you saying you're a hero?" Manny scoffed.

"Anti!" Bernard said quickly. "Anti-hero! I get to drink and smoke and be offensive, and people still love me, because they think I've got character. Personality. A cool trenchcoat."

"Your trenchcoat is old. And full of holes. The moths have gotten to it, I think. Back in the sixties."

"Bullet holes," said Bernard. "Or .. laser gun holes."

"Fine. So what do we do? Switch on the Bat signal?"

"We don't need Batman." Bernard scowled. "He's ... American. And a bat. And not real."

"Fine," Manny said, again. "So now what?"

Bernard stood up and lit a cigarette. "We wait."

"For what? The end of the world? To be dissolved into anti-matter?"

The door shut with a loud bang. Nothing had come in. No sound.

Manny gulped and took a few steps back.

Bernard went to stand before his desk and blew some smoke.

Nothing moved towards them. Slowly. Inexorably. Like a predator, stalking towards its prey, which fear had rendered utterly petrified.

"Bernard," Manny said.

"Mm?"

"I just want you to know that - "

Nothing reached the Biography section, passed on to Autobiographies and Cookbooks.

"Can I hold your hand?"

There was a silent explosion that left books standing quietly on their shelves, as if nothing had touched them. The door didn't open again, and the smell of pine lingered in the air.

From outside, faintly, there came the sound of birdsong and children's laughter. Traffic. People screaming.

"No," said Bernard.

"What - what just happened?" asked Manny.

There came the sound of a soft burp, and the door swung open, briefly.

"Nothing," Bernard said, and sat down behind his desk again. "Now, go and price those new arrivals, will you? Chop, chop, I'm not paying you to stand around all day."


End file.
